


Hands

by thunderbird_dragon



Series: The WASP Years [7]
Category: Thunderbirds, Thunderbirds are go!
Genre: M/M, the WASP years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8675314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderbird_dragon/pseuds/thunderbird_dragon
Summary: Following the accident that ends Gordon Tracy's career in WASP, he takes his first look at Thunderbird Four.  He's resisted joining International Rescue for so long, caused a rift between his father and himself, but now, what other options are open to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The WASP Years - part seven - and the finale but there are two other stories that follow it so I will put them in this series shortly. But as for this one, it concludes his actual WASP Years.  
> The series is my interpretation of how the original cannon would have fitted into young Gordon's life before International Rescue, it was a lot of fun writing but I emphasise yet again, it is only my headcannon! For the purposes of the series, Gordon is aged 20 years when he joins International Rescue, which makes it fit nicely with TOS but is a bit of a stretch for TAG.

__

 

_**The WASP Years - HANDS** _

It was hands that so very carefully lifted him from the water, and hands that strapped him into the evac-board, but he knew nothing of those hands. 

The first hands he was aware of, were those holding both of his.  He couldn’t see who it was, but somewhere deep inside, he knew they would be his family. 

Next, dropped into a medically induced coma for seven weeks to give his head a chance of survival, there were skilled and caring hands that tended his needs, changing drips, turning him, etc.  A sweeping hand had written on the name plate above his head, ‘Cmd. Gordon Cooper Tracy’ and his date of birth, indicating he was still a serving WASP officer and that he was just 19 years old.  There were many visitors, friends, shipmates and especially family, usually their only contact was to hold his hand for a while.  But then, there was one pair of hands that were a constant.  A broad strong right hand in particular, his father’s, which held his slender left hand at every single opportunity that the busy hospital gave him.

Gordon didn’t know anything about that either.

Jeff Tracy hadn’t left Gordon’s side since the hydrofoil accident.  He tortured himself hourly by playing and replaying in his head, the argument from just before it.  The last time he had seen his son upright and healthy.  The fury in the boy’s face, the hand – Jeff particularly remembered Gordon’s hand - held out against him, fingers spread wide, forming a barrier between them – and then his words.

“No Dad!  You’ve already got Scott, John and Virgil working for you!  Not me too!  You’ve always know, full well, that I only ever wanted to be in WASP.  Hell Dad, I’ve just made commander – there’s no way you can expect me to give that up!” And he turned angrily to re-join his friends - minutes later they were boarding the hydrofoil.

Jeff recalled it over and over, his tears falling on the back of his hand as he clasped Gordon’s tightly, blaming himself for distracting Gordon just before the race.  Wishing and wishing he hadn’t mentioned International Rescue to him right then.  His son had been so adamant in previous conversations, Jeff should have known better than to ask if he’d changed his mind, _not right then._

But Gordon was unaware of that too.

Incredibly efficient hands performed the operations to rebuild his pelvis and spine, and to plate up his skull.  Then once he was conscious again, it was hands that supported his first attempts to sit up, his initial efforts at physio and his own hands that gripped the rails in his determination to stand again.

Now home, it was his hand that rested on the nose of the unfinished craft.

A sadly discarded, unpainted, duraminium carcass.  Unrustable, strong but not yet fitted out.  All work on it had halted four months earlier, the day of the accident, and there it had remained.  Pushed to one side of the hanger and covered in hessian cloth – _mothballed_.  It had taken both hands, and some pain, for Gordon to pull back the hessian, dust rose, but underneath was Thunderbird Four, abandoned.

Linked through the palm of his hand, he felt some form of sadness for this unloved craft.  It… no, he changed his mind - _she_ looked to be a great design, well thought out, though the hessian still covered her from the front screen backwards.

He ran his hand down the bare metal work and wondered for a long time.  A very long time indeed. 

Could _she_ be his future after all?

A voice called gently, Jeff hadn’t wanted to break into the moment.  This was the first time he’d seen his son beside TB4, “How on earth did you get yourself down here, son?”

Gordon dismissed the question flippantly with a “Dunno!”

Then Jeff spotted what he held in his other hand. 

They had been expecting it.

The official comm had arrived earlier, addressed to Cmd G C Tracy, (WASP – ret.).  And Gordon hadn’t need to open it, it had said all it needed to say on the outside – ‘ _Retired_ ’.

Jeff had thrown a fortune on an appeal hearing after the initial decision that Gordon’s injuries were too huge to fully recover from.  His way of showing support now it was probably too late for the boys WASP career?  He wasn't sure.  He knew how much it meant to his son and knew too, that if any of his boys said they would get back on their feet, then that was _exactly_ what they would do.

But WASP were less patient.

Seeing him there in the hanger, the comm in his hand, Jeff knew that the last thing he wanted was for Gordon to have to give up his career.

“We’ll try another approach, Gordon.  Try the Secretary of State – Hell!  I’ll go to the World First Minister if I have to!”

Gordon’s shoulder were low, deflated.  All the fight to remake himself, despite being told it was impossible – seemed to be gone.  WASP had been his earliest dream. 

“No Dad, that’s it, it’s over.” His hand dropped the comm to the hanger floor, it clattered down into the folds of hessian.

Jeff stepped forward and placed his big warm hand on Gordon’s shoulder, lightly, as there was still some residual damage there.  “Son, you can’t give up now.”  He said simply.

Gordon looked to the roof of the hanger, he wasn’t ready for this conversation right now?  Did his father mean about giving up on WASP or the fight to recover?  He brought his hands up to cover his eyes and sighed impatiently. “You can’t seriously think I’d give up, _I’m standing aren’t I!_ ”

Jeff watched silently, ignoring the sudden uncharacteristic petulance, understanding the confusion that his son must be feeling.  He waited, until Gordon seemed ready before he tried a sympathetic grin, “Well, you look a bit low at the moment.”

“Not me, Dad.  It’s inbreed in us Tracy boys, remember?” There was no mirth in this phrase – it was expected of the boys and they all knew it.  But Gordon realised he’d sounded harsh so added in a low voice, “It’s just a change of course, Dad!  That’s all!” 

Jeff nodded and waited again, giving Gordon the time he needed to think this through.

Gordon had turned and was leaning on TB4, taking some of his weight off aching joints and allowed his hands to rest on the metal. He knew nothing of this submarine – he’d never seen her before, he hadn’t even seen her technical specifications so had no idea what her finish would be.  Curiosity got the better of him, “What colour were you thinking of spraying her?”

Jeff could see the way this was going, his reluctant son was beginning to admire the little craft.  Jeff’s emotions tumbled. Unsure now what he himself wanted.

“Orange!”

“Orange! She’ll look like an offshore lifeboat!” Gordon scoffed, then tilted his head and ran his hand down to the light housings, “How about yellow?”

Jeff sensed something new, a lighthearted interest – noncomital but… an interest anyway.

“Blue then!”

“I thought Scott’s was blue?  How about yellow?”

“We could do turquoise!” Jeff was teasing now.

Gordon squinted disbelief at his father – “You’d never see her in the water!  How about yellow?”

“Black?”

Gordon waved a dismissing hand in the air – “Same difference, you’d never see her in the water!”  He stopped and looked directly at his father.   “How… About… Yellow!”

Suddenly, they were laughing, hands grasping each other to stabilise Gordon as he rocked forward - a release of emotions that they so desperately needed.

“We’ve painted all the pod equipment yellow, son.” Jeff finally said as he released his hand to clap it round his son’s shoulder, rather too heavily.

Gordon smiled mildly, “S’okay, I like yellow, and I won’t mind if she matches all your pod vehicles – Hey!  I’ll do you a deal!”

Jeff looked at him intently, guessing what might be coming and struggling to know what to reply if he was right.

“You paint her yellow and I’ll pilot her for you!” Gordon waived an open hand over the unpainted craft in a grand gesture.

Jeff’s heart pounded, he took a moment then said, “Son, I know that’s not what you really want, you…”

He got no further, Gordon put a hand up to stop him, “Dad, I don’t have many options right now!”

Jeff’s head dropped – hiding the pain in his eyes – he didn’t want this to be Gordon’s only alternative.  If he really was going to join International Rescue, Jeff would have preferred it was willingly – not like this.

Gordon slipped out from under his father’s hand, and pulled at the hessian again.  He needed a little space between them for a moment before it became too emotional for both of them.  He had listened to what his brothers told him of his father’s bedside vigil.  Knew, now, what his father had put himself through.

Finding gaps in the hull plating where several panels had not yet been fitted, he wriggled in with a little effort.

“Steady!”  His father warned, worried that his son wasn’t up to that kind of antics yet. 

Gordon looked about him, handling the internal structure with admiration for the strength and beauty she already had, imagining what it would be like once she was finished.  Beginning to fall in love. 

“Dad!” he looked out through glassless screen, “Seriously!  If you paint her yellow, I will pilot her!”  He repeated the offer, slid back out to stand beside his father and turned to look into his face “Don’t get all teary on me now Dad!  It’ll be okay!” It was his turn to place a reassuring hand on his father’s shoulder. “You finish her, Dad, and I’ll work my butt off to be fit enough for her when she’s done!”

“Are you truly sure?  I don’t want you making do with second best.”

Gordon tilted his head to look at her again and was sure.

Jeff’s relief was total but he had to ask, “Okay, but tell me, why yellow?”

“D’you remember that old song Mom used to sing to us as kids?”

He smiled, remembering very clearly.  “Yellow it is then!” and they shook hands on it.


End file.
